


Enough

by LimixFullOfSpite (Limix)



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: #nsfwyurioweek, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-18
Updated: 2017-09-18
Packaged: 2018-12-31 03:59:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12124062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Limix/pseuds/LimixFullOfSpite
Summary: “You should’ve died,” Victor growled, “Not him.” It was a tense few seconds before Yuri worked up the courage to speak again.“Then kill me.”





	Enough

There was an art to being raped, Yuri was sure of it. He tensed again, gritting his teeth against the painful friction. Surely he was mastering such a skill. After all, he was a fast learner. He knew now, for example, that screaming had no effect. It merely made his throat hurt. No one came to the door, he certainly didn’t feel better, and Victor hardly even paused. He knew pleading was even less helpful. It only made him feel humiliated and small when Victor simply stuffed a towel into his mouth. That led to more screaming which, as he had learned, had no effect.

Yuri also knew by now that it wasn’t his name Victor called when he cried out, it was Katsuki Yuuri’s. The first time he’d realized it, the knowledge had filled him with horror, chilling him to his core. And it had broken his heart.

Yuri winced and turned his head as Victor thrust again. The sound of flesh slapping against flesh was loud. He’d be surprised if no one could hear it from outside. Yuri scanned the now-familiar concrete walls, still just as bare and empty and cold. The late afternoon sun was waning, projecting exaggerated shadows onto the wall, silhouettes of the bed and the people on it, like some demented puppet show. Yuri watched it play out, trying to pretend he wasn’t the principle actor, imagining that this was merely a bad dream.

Another thrust, stronger this time. Yuri bit his lip and slid his hand up the iron bars at the head of the bed, his sweaty palms catching on the metal, and braced himself against them. The chains on his wrists clanked softly with his movement, drawing Victor’s attention. Yuri looked into his eyes, searching desperately for the man he thought he knew, the one he had felt very differently about. But he didn’t find him. He blinked rapidly and averted his eyes again, unnerved by Victor’s stare, even though he knew Victor wasn’t seeing him.

With a breathless groan, Victor buried his face into Yuri’s shoulder, his hips pressing hard into Yuri’s. Yuri couldn’t help but let out a small cry at the pressure. A tingle shot up into his belly but he pushed it away, shying from the knowledge. He focused instead on Victor’s murmurs: a litany of Katsuki’s name and endearments in Russian. The familiar sadness washed over him, settling on his chest, heavier than Victor could ever be. He knew it would never fade.

 

* * *

 

Dinner was the usual fare. The katsudon that had once awed him was cloying now, a nauseating taste he’d become all too familiar with. That was to be expected for any food, no matter how delicious, if it was the only thing you were given to eat. Yuri choked a little as Victor fed him at an even pace, never slowing, but he kept it down. The first meal in this style had been interrupted when he’d balked at the choice of food, aghast at the glaring reminder of Katsuki Yuuri while in this situation. He’d been uncomfortably aware of the dark blue urn on the nightstand. It hadn’t ended well for him and he’d been forced to eat the cold, congealed katsudon anyway, crying the entire time.

Victor unchained him afterwards, giving him his usual hour in the bathroom. Yuri scanned the stark bathroom, searching for anything he could use as a tool or a weapon. It was part of his daily routine now. As usual, he found nothing. No mirror to smash, no drawers or cabinet doors to be ripped out, not even a shower curtain ring to throw. There was only a shower head set into the wall, a knob for the water (it wouldn’t budge no matter how hard he pulled), a toilet without a seat (but with a locked tank lid), and a gaping drain hole in the floor.

Yuri turned the water as hot as he could stand it, letting it run over his body, over the new bruises and aches of the day and the old ones from days past. His arms were sorer than they’d ever been and it took tremendous effort to even lift them, but he managed to wash himself thoroughly. Not doing so was not an option. He didn’t have toothpaste, so he simply rubbed the soft bristles of the silicon children’s toothbrush he’d been given against the soap and brushed his teeth.

The haze of confusion and fear from the last few days were starting to clear from his mind. It was only here, in the bathroom away from Victor, that he could manage to think clearly, to plan. He was smaller than Victor, and weaker, made more still by the days he’d spent subject to Victor’s will. There was no chance of overpowering Victor and escaping that way.

Yuri didn’t even know where he was. The last he remembered, they’d stopped by Victor’s apartment, he’d been given a cup of coffee, and then he’d woken up in this room. He didn’t know anything about drugs, but he couldn’t have been unconscious long enough for Victor to have moved him out of Russia. Could he?

Yuri dismissed his ponderings on location. That didn’t matter. He could always find a person on the street to question, or a convenience store to walk into. His focus should be on escape. Victor only unlocked him for this one hour in the bathroom every night. And he kept the key on his person, always tucked into his back pocket. Except when he wasn’t wearing his pants, but those were times when Yuri was otherwise occupied anyway.

The few times Victor hadn’t removed his pants were times when he’d been moved beyond reason. The first time Victor had raped Yuri, for example. Or the time Yuri had refused dinner. Or when Yuri had— Yuri shook his head under the spray of hot water. Suffice it to say, he needed to do something drastic enough that Victor wouldn’t pay attention to Yuri. Or rather, that he wouldn’t pay attention to Yuri’s very flexible legs.

With that thought, Yuri tested himself, widening his sore legs, muscles protesting as he maneuvered into a split on the concrete floor. He tried as many positions as he could manage without a barre to balance against, using the rough walls instead. He had as full a range of motion as he usually did, but he couldn’t hold them as long. It was understandable, given that he hadn’t fully rested in days after being forced into so many cramped positions.

But Yuri was confident he could manage to hook a key from Victor’s back pocket. It was a simple plan with room for improvisation and he was clear-headed enough now to pull it off. A knock at the door signaled that he had 10 minutes left in his hour, so he turned off the shower and started to dry off  with the small towel he’d left on the toilet tank lid. Slowly, he suppressed the hope that bloomed in his chest. He didn’t want Victor to see it on his face. Not until he managed to free himself, anyway.

With a deep, calming breath and still rubbing his hair dry, he opened the bathroom door, and stepped out.

 

* * *

 

_Makkachin gives a single loud bark and races off down the sidewalk._

_"Ah." Victor says, squinting a little, "they dropped him off at the wrong end of the bridge." Yuri snorts in response. They were in for a wait now. Katsuki probably didn't know enough Russian to correct the driver anyway._

_He and Victor watch as a man in a blue jacket and backpack exits the vehicle and is immediately greeted by a large brown poodle. Their mutual delight is visible even from where Yuri stood. A breeze blows towards him, bringing the faint sound of barking and laughter._

_Katsuki straightens from hugging Makkachin and begins to run towards them, Makkachin following in his wake. He’s smiling as he runs. Yuri can see the joy on Katsuki’s face. It makes his eyes sparkle and his cheeks flush. But that could just be the biting autumn wind. Beside Yuri, Victor raises an arm in greeting._

_"Yuuri!" He calls, his grin bright enough to blind nearby pedestrians. Yuri starts to get itchy, a tightness growing in his chest as he looks between the two of them. This sappiness was off the charts. He could practically hear the flowery music playing in the background. He sneers and takes a few steps forward. Turning his head around, he meets Victor's eyes._

_"I'll race ya." He says with a smirk and starts running before Victor can react. Victor laughs and springs forward. Yuri watches as his eyes are set aglow, and his lips stretch into a smile._

_The wind rushes through Yuri’s hair, tangling it as he runs. He turns his head again to check on Victor’s progress. He knows Victor isn’t running as fast as he could. Yuri laughs and calls out a taunt. “Too slow, old man!”_

_The jingle of a bicycle bell rings frantically in front of him and Yuri hears Katsuki call a panicked “Watch out!” Yuri whips his head forward, but not fast enough. He sees only a blur of blue before he’s shoved to the side, almost hitting the railing of the bridge. There’s a squealing of brakes and tires, a sickening thud, and then a scream rends the air._

_Yuri never knew Victor could make a sound like that._

_When his confusion clears, he sees a person lying on the road, so still it’s unnerving. He recognizes the blue jacket. He just saw it seconds ago as he was pushed out of the way. It’s Katsuki._

_A crowd is gathering. People are getting out of cars that have stopped in the road and exiting the bus now partially on the sidewalk. The bus that hit Katsuki. Even the observers from the bridge path are running towards the scene._

_Victor is kneeling by Katsuki, running frantic hands down his jacketed torso. Victor’s mouth moves but all Yuri can hear is a great rushing sound and a frantic beating that courses through him. He can’t seem to breathe, can’t seem to think. Surely this is a dream?_

 

* * *

 

_The hall is quiet and somber when Yuri walks in. He nods in recognition to some of the faces that turn towards him, then looks away, not wanting to interact further. There are occasional, soft murmurs between the huddled groups sitting on cushions on the floor. The smell of incense and flowers fills the hall, stinging Yuri’s nose._

_Yuri is ushered forward to the front, a guest of honor to be seated beside the Katsuki family. He can’t help the blush that spreads over his face. He feels like an interloper. But no one stands up and yells at him to leave. No one glares at him accusingly. Not a single word of blame passes through anyone’s lips._

_His grandpa grips his shoulder and he takes strength from it, finding the courage to look the Katsukis in the eyes, to nod to them as they cry. He sits down slowly on the cushion indicated to him._

_Victor is already there, silent on the other side of the Katsukis. His hand spasms, then closes in a fist when Yuri greets the Katsukis, but he gives no other sign of noticing Yuri has arrived. He doesn’t turn to look at Yuri, letting his hair hide even a glimpse of his face. Yuri bites the inside of his lower lip and turns his attention forwards, towards the large framed portrait hanging in front of him, surrounded by flowers and tablets he can’t read. Katsuki stares serenely back at him, supremely unmoved by his own wake. Underneath the portrait lies the casket. It’s made of a dark shiny wood, elegant and simple in its design, like Katsuki had been._

_Yuri’s not sure he can make it through the wake, but he does. He can’t help but rush from the hall right as the last sutra is chanted. He doesn’t look up as he leaves and barely makes it outside before he allows himself to vomit into the bushes outside. There’s nothing but bile since he couldn’t bring himself to eat anything last night or this morning. When the urge to heave finally leaves him, his grandpa, who’d been silently waiting, hands him a handkerchief he’d soaked in water, and Yuri wipes his streaming eyes and then his mouth, still panting slightly._

 

* * *

_Yuri manages to stay in the room the next day after the post-cremation ceremony is all done, even though it had been even worse than the wake. He hadn’t been able to look Katsuki in the face one last time. He’d simply placed his flower into the casket and left. Luckily, they hadn’t forced him to participate in the bone-placing ceremony. He was no good with chopsticks anyway._

_As the rest of the guests slowly leave, Yuri watches as Mrs. Katsuki hands Victor a small urn. It’s simple and smooth, with no noticeable ridge on its lid, the entirety painted a dark, somber blue. A glossy finish keeps it from being too drab. Victor’s tears immediately splash onto the lid as he hugs it to his chest. He’s nodding and grimacing as Mrs. Katsuki murmurs to him quietly, her hand gently lying on his arm. The other Katsukis nod along in agreement with her._

_Yuri feels the urge to reach out but he’s not sure why. To take the urn? To grab Victor and shake him? He fists his hands instead and shoves them into his jacket pockets. Slowly, he exits the room with his grandpa, his solid presence an immeasurable source of comfort._

_Yuri spies the rest of Yakov’s team outside the door and, not knowing what else to do, heads over to them. Mila greets him with a tight hug. He doesn’t break away like he normally does._

_“I’m sorry.” Mila says quietly. “I know you looked up to him.” Yuri nods, not bothering to correct her and not trusting himself to speak. The others take it as a cue to hug him too and he’s passed around like a stuffed animal. Even Yakov manages to give him a brief one-armed hug before there’s a tap on his shoulder._

_Yuri turns to face Victor. His eyes are still rimmed in red, but he’s not crying anymore. In fact, there’s a new gleam in his eyes that wasn’t there before. Yuri can help but stare, mesmerized by the glow he didn’t think he’d ever see again. This one seems different, harsher, but Yuri’s just glad it’s not the dead look he’d seen for the last few days, during the rush of funeral preparations._

_“Can I speak to you?” Victor asks quietly. Yuri nods and follows him away from the crowds, to a private spot under a nearby tree._

_As if on cue, they both look out at the sea bordering Hasetsu. It’s unusually sunny today and Yuri’s forced to squint as he watches the light sparkle off the top of the water. It’s oddly soothing, the random patterns of waves that roll onto the shore. The gulls are out in full force, diving energetically into the waves or circling overhead in complicated formations. Yuri’s going to miss this view. He doesn’t have a reason to come back to Japan anymore, not that he could bring himself to even if he did._

_“Yuuri’s family thinks I should have this,” Victor says finally, raising the urn in his hands for emphasis. Yuri nods, not trusting himself to speak. “They said he would’ve wanted to be with me.” Again, Yuri nods, the tiniest bit hesitant._

_“I want to take Yuuri sightseeing in Russia. We never”—Victor’s voice broke—“never got a chance to do that.” Victor clears his throat, blinking rapidly. “I want you to come with me. I think he would’ve liked that.”_

_Yuri is surprised. He’s not sure Katsuki would’ve wanted him along on his and Victor’s sightseeing date, but he can do nothing but agree. After a quick chat with his grandpa and farewells to the other guests, including a long, silent grip on the shoulder from Otabek, they’re on their way to the airport. Yuri’s hastily packed bag rests on his knees while they sit in the backseat of the taxi, not talking._

_“I’ll just need to stop by my apartment first after we get there,” Victor says, “I need to grab some things for the trip.” Yuri agrees and turns his attention back to the ocean passing by outside. In the reflection of the car window, he can see the dark blue urn resting on Victor’s lap. Victor never lets go of it, even to rest his arms. His jaw clenches and unclenches continuously, as if he’s holding himself in check constantly. Yuri doesn’t understand the apprehension he feels so he ignores it and focuses again on the passing scenery._

 

* * *

 

Victor stepped out of the bathroom, freshly washed and dressed in a new set of clean clothes. He moved towards the bed to unlock Yuri’s hands from the short chains attached to the headboard and to locked them together in front of Yuri; from “the day position”, as Yuri called it, to “the night position”. That was the usual order of things, until Yuri decided to change it.

“I’m not him, Victor.” Yuri said, staring up at the ceiling. He didn’t want to watch Victor’s face change. From the corner of his eye, he saw Victor pause mid-step. Yuri turned to face him, “Yuuri Katsuki is dead.”

Victor’s eyes focused on Yuri’s face. He could feel Victor’s gaze boring into him. The gleam he saw at the funeral was back but he knew now that it wasn’t a good gleam, at least not for him. Victor’s face was as impassive as Yuri had ever seen it. But he was beginning to frown and his brows were starting to furrow. Yuri continued.

“Yuuri Katsuki is dead and he’s not coming back” he said, “No matter how much you pretend I’m him.” The awful truth was out. Yuri hoped fervently that eventually they would come to terms with it.

Yuri didn’t seem him move, but his head was suddenly whipping to the side from the force of Victor’s slap. Victor was on top of him, sitting on his legs, hand still raised, his face a cold mask of rage. But Yuri only felt marginally scared. His plan was working. But even in his triumph, he still felt the deep ache that settled in his chest. Yuri knew he was hurting both Victor and himself, was crushing unspoken dreams they’d both held for the past few days.

Yuri couldn’t stop himself from frowning as he stared at the wretched expression on Victor’s face. This was the look of a lost man. A lost man who’d just been told that help was never coming. Yuri started to doubt his plan. Victor’s eyes wandered over Yuri’s face, reading the emotions there.

“Don’t you dare pity me!” Victor said savagely, “At least for a short time, he was mine. You’re the one with no hope now.” Victor let out a harsh laugh, “We knew how you felt about him, about me, about us.” He unzipped his pants, the rasping sound of the metal teeth echoed loudly in Yuri’s ears. Yuri was frozen, staring wide-eyed as Victor pulled out his half-hard cock. He pushed away Victor’s words, but he couldn’t stop the humiliation that burned across his face. He knew he was flushed. “So don’t you dare pity me.” Victor repeated.

Yuri suppressed an involuntary shiver at the sight of Victor stroking his cock. He couldn’t afford to be a coward, no matter how loudly a part of him screamed to be silent, to take it back before it hurt.

With a lick of his palm and some quick tugs, Victor worked himself into a full erection and pushed apart Yuri’s legs with his knees. Yuri barely had time to brace himself before Victor entered him in a single, hard thrust. He let out a small breath at the burning, dragging friction, tensing as Victor sheathed himself deep inside him. It still hurt, even after all the times before, but Yuri could handle it now without crying out. He was reasonably sure about that.

“You can’t bring him back,” Yuri spat viciously, slightly out of breath. “You’re as pathetic as he was.” Victor’s hands gripped his hips forcefully as he pulled out and rammed back in. Yuri knew he would have a new set of bruises the next day. But it wasn’t enough yet. Victor wasn’t distracted enough. Yuri needed to do more. He slowly tested one leg, raising it and lowering it towards Victor’s back pocket, aiming at it with his foot. Victor’s thigh nudged his leg still, hitching it higher on the bed.

“I’m glad he’s dead.” Yuri said, injecting as much truth as he could manage into his voice, “You couldn’t handle him and he wasn’t good enough for—“ he gasped as Victor thrust again, savagely this time, as if he could run Yuri straight through— “I’m glad the bus hit him.”

Yuri could almost hear it when Victor snapped.

“It should’ve been you.” Victor snarled, his voice dark with vicious conviction. His expression sent a bolt of fear through Yuri and for the first time, Yuri wondered if he would even live to escape. He tried and failed to seem unaffected. After all, Victor was merely voicing what he himself felt.

“You should’ve died,” Victor growled, “Not him.” It was a tense few seconds before Yuri worked up the courage to speak again.

“Then kill me.”

 Victor’s hands let go of Yuri’s hips and wrapped around Yuri’s slender neck with crushing force. The sudden constriction made stars explode in Yuri’s eyes and he coughed, twisting his head from side to side in an attempt to dislodge Victor’s hands. Victor simply shifted his grip to match Yuri’s movements. Panicked, disjointed thoughts were flitting in and out of Yuri’s mind. He couldn’t stop his hands from pulling uselessly against the cuffs on his wrists, making the chains jangle against the bars.

Victor’s thumbs pressed against Yuri’s windpipe and Yuri’s eyes started to water from the lack of air. His head was swimming. His hips jerked desperately but only succeeded in pushing Victor deeper. The tip of Victor’s cock rubbed against a spot inside him that made his stomach clench involuntarily and he jerked again from the sensation.

A pressure was building inside him without an outlet and he couldn’t escape it like he usually did. The panic was narrowing his focus to only the sensations now assaulting him. He was so close. He arched his back helplessly, his mouth opening in a silent, airless gasp. His vision was turning black and a tingling sensation was growing stronger, low in his belly. He writhed desperately, no longer sure if he was escaping what was coming, or embracing it.

Yuri watched Victor bare his teeth in a snarl, felt Victor tighten his grip and lean more of his weight onto Yuri to still his jerky movements, pressing on Yuri’s hardened cock. The contact was too much, too sudden for his overly-sensitized body and Yuri came, clenching greedily around Victor’s cock, his own spurting hot white streams onto his quivering stomach.

Victor let go in surprise and Yuri gulped for air, the sudden rush of oxygen making him even dizzier than he’d been. It hadn’t worked out the way he thought it would. He coughed, gasping weakly, his eyes streaming. Victor started to laugh.

“I can’t believe you came.” Victor jeered, his smile cold and cruel. His mirth shook his whole body, including the still-hard cock inside of Yuri, rubbing endlessly against that same spot. “You fucking came!”

Yuri turned his head to the side, still struggling for breath, humiliation hot on his cheeks. He couldn’t decide if he had meant it. Was that what he’d come to? Guilt so strong he wanted to die to escape it? He searched the wall desperately for a distraction, but all he saw was the urn, silently sitting on the nightstand. The dark blue glaze looked menacing to him. The vibrations from Victor’s laughter shot through him like lightning. Hot tears slid helplessly down his cheek. His thighs were shaking as he tried to fight it. This wasn’t supposed to happen. He couldn’t even move his legs any more.

Yuri felt the pressure build again and he barely managed to close his eyes. He let out a sobbing cry as his second orgasm hit. His eyes rolled into the back of his head so hard, he saw white. He couldn’t stop himself from pushing against Victor, impaling himself on Victor’s cock when he arched off the bed again, taut with sensation. It seemed to last an eternity, but Yuri knew it had only been a few seconds.

When Yuri’s vision cleared, they were both breathing harshly. He couldn’t look Victor in the eyes, so he kept his face turned determinedly away. His thighs trembled helplessly against Victor’s hips. There was too much to process and he couldn’t handle it now. Perhaps after Victor left, he could sort through the conflicting emotions welling up inside of him. That hope was dashed when Victor hooked a hand under Yuri’s knee and forcefully pinned it to the bed, spreading him wider, exposing him to the fluorescent room lights.

Victor’s hips began a new rhythm, pulling out and pushing back into Yuri vehemently, driving him into the mattress. His other hand slid up Yuri’s chest and cruelly pinched a nipple before closing, once again, around Yuri’s throat. Yuri couldn’t stop the sounds that burst from his mouth. He didn’t even try to. This had gone all wrong and there was no way to stop it now.

 

* * *

 

Yuri awoke when the late morning sun pierced his eyelids. Usually he was able to turn his head into his shoulder to avoid the glare, but this morning he could barely move. His limbs were heavy and stiff, not yet recovered from last night. Underneath him, the sheets were stiff with dried bodily fluids, some of it still a sticky, congealing mess. He shifted uncomfortably, moving his sore, tired legs to a cleaner spot on the bed. He couldn’t open his eyes yet. They were gritty and dry and the sun was too strong.

Yuri heard a rustle as Victor moved beside him. The mattress dipped as Victor sat up and got off the bed. More rustling, another dip, and the telltale click of keys against locks reached Yuri’s ears. His arms, once freed, fell limply to either side of his head. Yuri bit his lower lip, hissing as the blood rushed back into his stinging arms. This was the longest he’d been in that position and he didn’t know if he’d be able to do it again.

“Go take a shower,” Victor said, “Come out when you’re done.” Yuri tried to analyze the emotion, or lack thereof, in Victor’s voice. But there wasn’t enough to go on so he gave up. All that mattered to him right now was getting clean. He gathered what little strength he had left and rolled slowly until he could set his feet on the floor.

When he managed to stand, he only held the position for a second before collapsing on the ground. His legs weren’t going to hold him up long enough to get to the bathroom. He couldn’t even use his arms to push himself up. They shook when he tried. As he sat and contemplated crawling, Yuri could feel Victor drip out of him, running in a slow dribble down the insides of his thighs. He shuddered, thinking of the purging he wanted to do and then he nearly cried at the strength it would take.

With a tutting sound, Victor walked around the bed and effortlessly picked up Yuri by his armpits, settling Yuri against his chest. Victor hooked one arm under Yuri’s knees and balanced him with the other. On his way to the bathroom, Victor used the hand under Yuri’s knees to grab the lone chair in the room from where it sat by the bed, bringing it with them. He arranged Yuri onto the chair, directly under the spray from the showerhead. There was a foreign gentleness to his touch and Yuri didn’t know what it meant. Was he sorry about the night before? Was he merely pretending? The puzzle made his head ache.

Victor washed Yuri and himself with emotionless efficiency, soaping up their hair and every inch of exposed flesh with brisk strokes and swipes. Yuri closed his eyes and let his head fall gently against the back of the chair. His arms were hanging limply by his sides, rivulets of sudsy water running down them. He was still so tired.

When Victor pulled him forward on the chair and placed a hand on either of his knees, pushing them apart, Yuri barely opened his eyes. Victor was but a flesh-and-silver blur in front of him. Yuri couldn’t fight back now if he tried. He groaned softly when Victor’s fingers, slick with soap, pushed into him. His thighs tensed in wariness, but Victor merely held him down with the other hand while he worked in Yuri, spreading his fingers in the tight hole and making scooping motions as he moved in and out. Slowly, Yuri relaxed and let Victor clean him.

 

* * *

 

Later, after the sheets had been changed and Yuri’s arms locked into the night position again, he let himself drift until Victor stretched out next to him, still fully clothed. Yuri watched him warily but Victor seemed content to simply stare back, as if fully seeing Yuri for the first time. Yuri watched as Victor’s hair fell slowly down his face, like a drift of snowfall in the winter.

“You didn’t mean it, did you?” Victor said after some time. Yuri stayed silent, waiting for clarification. “You weren’t really glad he died?”

Yuri’s chest throbbed painfully as he broke their gaze, focusing instead on the open collar of Victor’s shirt.

“Of course not,” He finally whispered after some false starts, his voice raspy from overuse. He swallowed against the emotion welling in his throat. “Of course I’m not glad he died.” He couldn’t continue, couldn’t say any more, so he fell into silence. Victor dipped his chin in a nod and they lay together companionably.

Yuri didn’t mention his other statement from last night; didn’t reiterate it or clarify it. And he didn’t ask if Victor had meant what he’d said. He didn’t want to know if it had been the truth; or if Victor’s truth had matched his own.

Eventually, Yuri slept again.

 

* * *

 

There was a decided change in Victor’s attentions. He wasn’t rough anymore, wasn’t harsh. A bottle of oil appeared on the nightstand one morning, next to Katsuki’s urn. Yuri glanced at it once after he woke up then looked away, almost choking on guilt. He didn’t mention it and neither did Victor, but they used it copiously in the following days. Yuri wasn’t sure he could call it rape anymore. Not when he didn’t fight, didn’t even resist. In fact, he was starting to embrace it, to crave it, and Victor was beginning to notice.

Victor allowed Yuri daily use of his phone now, to call his grandpa and apologize to him about the horrible service they’d had while they were travelling around Russia. Yuri talked about the sights he’d seen and the foods he’d eaten. And when he couldn’t remember the names of these places and cuisines, Victor helpfully supplied them. Yuri even called Yakov to say that he’d need more time before he could return to practice. He never even hinted at the truth.

 

* * *

 

One night, as Victor ran his hands down Yuri’s torso, Yuri noticed that there was something different about Victor’s now-familiar touch. He couldn’t place it yet and the distraction of Victor kissing him didn’t help. They’d started doing that yesterday. Fumbling and tentative at first, it had evolved quickly into open-mouthed kisses, heated and passionate, tongues and lips and teeth battling in impassioned fervor. Victor’s tongue slid over Yuri’s, a hot glide that shot a flash of sensation through him and he moaned into Victor’s mouth. Victor’s hand passed over his chest, lazily flicking over a nipple, teasing it to a hard point. Then he pinched it and Yuri jumped in reaction, breaking the kiss.

Yuri remembered his original thought and glanced downwards at Victor’s hands. The right one looked bare and empty without the ring. Suddenly panicked, Yuri whipped his head around to search for the urn and saw that it still sat solidly on the nightstand. The relief that washed over him was quickly replaced by a wave of equal parts guilt and grief when he saw Victor’s ring resting in front of the urn, placed carefully to be exactly in the middle.

Yuri wanted to tell Victor to put it back on. He had meant to wear it forever, after all. But when Yuri looked back at Victor, who was watching him steadily with a decidedly opaque expression, he couldn’t get the words out. He could see that Victor was waiting for a sign or a word, waiting for something Yuri didn’t know he could give. He was suddenly short of breath. Could he do this? Did he even want to?

“I’m not him,” Yuri said slowly, making sure to watch Victor’s eyes as he did so, “I’m not Yuuri Katsuki.”

“I know.” Victor replied. There was a catch in his voice and his eyes gleamed suddenly with moisture, but he continued, “I know who you are.” Yuri waited for the longest time, watching for any betraying emotions on Victor’s face. When none came, he nodded and Victor bent his head to kiss him again.

 

* * *

 

The room was gray with weak dawn light when Yuri flipped over onto his stomach, letting Victor’s arm slip from his waist. He settled into a comfortable position and plumped the pillow under his head, angling it. He was almost asleep again when his eyes popped open and he lifted his head so fast he risked getting whiplash. His arms were free.

Yuri stared at his wrists in wonder, turning them this way and that in the pale light of day. He was rubbed raw from the cuffs he’d worn for days, but he didn’t care. A simple joy spread through him and for a moment he forgot all about Victor. This was the feeling of freedom. Then he sat up slowly, the blanket slipping from his shoulders, and his gaze landed on Victor’s sleeping form, one arm outstretched on the bed. Only moments before, it had held Yuri close to him.

Where did they stand now? Yuri was desperate to know. And what did this mean? Was Victor giving him a choice? He couldn’t quash the yearning for freedom, the urge to go home to his grandpa and forget this interlude ever happened. But he couldn’t bring himself to shake Victor awake and ask either. He’d have to decide for himself.

Yuri studied Katsuki’s urn and the ring sitting in front of it. In the dim light, the deep royal blue of the urn was almost black, its shine muted and quiet. Slowly he reached out a hand and laid it tentatively on the urn. The sides were cold and smooth, the glaze evening out any blemishes that had been on the clay plot’s original surface. He’d half expected it to be warm and alive, to have a pulse. In his head, Yuri apologized for everything. For being reckless and rude, for not watching where he had been going, for not treating Victor properly.

He picked up the ring next, turning it around in his palm. He’d never had the chance to examine it before since neither Katsuki nor Victor had ever taken it off. Yuri could feel an engraving on the inside of the ring with his finger, a small roughness that interrupted his perusal. He turned the ring, angling it towards the window and squinted at its inner markings.

He could barely make out the half snowflake engraved on the smooth inside surface of the ring. He knew immediately that the other half was on Katsuki’s ring, now resting inside the urn. Yuri put Victor’s ring back onto the nightstand, almost dropping it in his haste. He couldn’t do this after all. He couldn’t insert himself into the middle like this. His arrogance surprised even himself sometimes.

Keeping an eye on the urn, as if expecting it to speak, Yuri rose quickly from the bed and walked to the pile of his folded clothes in the corner of the room, where Victor had placed them that first day. The concrete floor was cold and rough against his feet as he walked. His legs were wobbly and weakened, but he moved slowly and managed not to fall.

Wearing clothes again was a foreign sensation. Yuri wasn’t entirely comfortable with the way his boxers and his shirt brushed against certain areas of his anatomy. He’d become sensitive there. But he couldn’t stop to adjust them. He had escape in mind and he needed to focus. He grabbed his phone from the floor and shoved it in his pocket before he laced up his shoes. His hands fumbled, dropping the laces and destroying the loops he’d made.

Yuri took a deep breath. He had to stay calm. A glance at the bed and the still form on it told him that Victor was still sleeping. When his shoes were finally tied, Yuri took a last look around the room, eyeing the place that had served as his prison for so many days. In the end, it had evolved beyond that, but it was still, in essence, a place to hold him, to contain him.

He walked to the door, his steps unnaturally loud in his ears. The lock turned easily, emitting a soft click as the tumblers gave. The door opened and he stepped through, then paused. He glanced one last time at Katsuki’s urn, half hidden in the shadow of the headboard. It stayed as constant as he had ever seen it. Then he turned his gaze to the bed. Victor’s eyes were unnaturally bright in the dim room as he looked steadily back at Yuri.

For a suspended moment, neither moved a muscle. Yuri could only stare, his heart pounding painfully in his chest. Would Victor stop him? Did he want him to? But Victor didn’t budge. He was still sitting on the bed, the blankets pooled in his lap. The silence grew louder with unspoken words. When he couldn’t stand it anymore, Yuri turned and walked out the door, closing it gently behind him.

The entrance to the building was easy enough to find. Yuri followed a wall until he came to a heavy metal door that, when he opened it, led outside. A chilly autumn morning had never smelled so fresh. Yuri stood for a few minutes and simply breathed, head tilted back, allowing the day to wash over him. The sun was barely peeking past the horizon now and soon, shops and businesses would be opening, just in time for Yuri to find out where he was.

He headed down the alley the building had let out into. It opened onto a large street, already dotted with pedestrians. Spotting a sign by the road, Yuri rushed over to read it. He realized with a jolt of surprise that he recognized the street. He was in St. Petersburg after all, not that far from his apartment. He even knew the route that would lead him home.

As he pondered the sign, a man brushed past him, jostling him from his musings. The man turned to dip his head apologetically, adjusting his jacket collar as he did so. A brief ray of sunlight glinted off the gold wedding ring on his hand, dazzling Yuri’s eyes. He was immediately reminded of another ring that flashed just as brightly under sunlight. It gleamed when the person wearing it waved. It sparkled when the light shifted as a casket lid was closed.

Yuri thought back to his last glimpse of Victor, sitting on the bed in the darkness. What would he do? Yuri had his grandpa to go back to, and his career was just starting. But Victor was alone now. He said he’d return to skating but he was already older than any other competitive figure skaters. Would he even be able to handle it? Yuri knew Victor had only agreed to return for Katsuki, after all. Would his conviction hold?

Yuri stood frozen, indecision holding him hostage. He could go back to his life, back to practice and competitions, back to his grandpa and his rink mates, back to his friendship with Otabek. It hadn’t been that long since he’d been gone. No one else knew that he’d been doing anything other than sightseeing with Victor, saying farewell to Katsuki.

But he knew.

He knew the last two weeks had changed him fundamentally. He knew he wasn’t the same. Could he pretend enough until he believed it? Was he strong enough to do it? Yuri knew he could do anything. But did he want to? That was a tougher question to answer. He and Victor were the same now. They’d both lost someone. Victor, the man he loved. Yuri, the man he— well, he’d lost them both. There was no denying that the old Victor had died with Katsuki. The new Victor, though, was very much alive. And alone.

Without realizing it, Yuri had already turned and started to walk back the way he came. They wouldn’t accept them, not at first. Yuri knew that. But in time, perhaps, they would at least understand. He and Victor were both missing a part of themselves now and in a way, it helped them fit together as they never had before. He hoped it would be enough.

The door to the building was still unlocked when Yuri reached it. He trailed a hand along the same wall he’d followed out before, retracing his steps until he reached the dark wooden door to their room. Victor hadn’t locked it again. With a steadying breath, Yuri opened it and walked inside.

Victor hadn’t moved much. He sat on the edge of the bed, his elbows resting on his knees, arms hanging between them. His head was bowed to stare at the ground but he looked up when Yuri opened the door. Emotions flashed across his face, too fast to read. Yuri managed to glimpse some that he guessed were confusion, joy, and something darker that niggled at the back of his mind until he pushed it aside.

Yuri closed the door decisively behind him and locked it. Victor had sat up straight again and they watched each other warily as Yuri walked slowly towards him. Then Victor silently held up both arms, stretched outwards towards Yuri. Yuri swallowed against his suddenly constricted throat and stepped into them, already shrugging out of his jacket.

**Author's Note:**

> -This was written out of spite =D (I'm actually a hardcore Victuuri shipper)
> 
> -Big thanks to the mods of the NSFW Yurio Week tumblr for inspiring this fic. After seeing all the hate the tumblr got, I sat down and typed out the sex scene haha. Then it took a month to get the rest of it out (and by that I mean I sat around for a month with half-baked ideas and finally pounded it all out in a rush on Saturday night and all day Sunday)
> 
> -I had 2 blowjob scenes all typed up but they didn't really fit so I had to cut them =/
> 
> -In the end, I'm still not sure who Yuri is in love with in this fic. I guess it's up to the reader's interpretation at this point


End file.
